N'oubliez Pas
by Arseneau
Summary: 'He had allowed Aramis to remain in the hands of his torturer. He had broken the oath that he and his brothers were meant to hold sacred. All for one and one for all. One for all and none for one.' My entry for the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' competition for the January prompt 'Resolutions' and a companion piece to Surrender. You can read them in either order. Enjoy!


_The angst I've been storing up over the past three weeks of college came out in this fic. This is a companion piece to Surrender, but you can read them in either order. For the 'Fete de Mousquetaires' competition, for the January 2017 prompt 'Resolutions'. This is the first time I've written anything as long as this so any constructive comments are appreciated. Like most of my stories, it's very emotionally heavy. Inspired by the Eurovision 2015 song of the same name, this is N'oubliez Pas._

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Resolution (noun): a firm decision to do or not to do something. Synonyms: pledge, promise, commitment.

* * *

 _"You should go."_

 _"No." Athos griped his blade tighter._

 _"Athos," Aramis placed his hand on Athos', "There's no point in us both staying. You have the letter, you should go."_

 _"Aramis-"_

 _"Go. I'll meet you there."_

Athos closed his eyes as the onslaught of emotions threatened to crack the mask he had hastily assembled. He breathed deeply, trying desperately to calm his fraying nerves. He felt exposed stood in the busy street, in the middle of the bustling stalls. He could feel the heat of Porthos' eyes on his back from his position behind the wall turning into the Rue Sainte-Opportune. There was a marksman on the roof and Athos' eyes flickered briefly in his direction. He was young, a lot younger than Aramis, a cadet. Aramis had taken quite a shine to the boy as he had displayed a certain skill in musket work, but his swordsmanship left a lot to be desired. Athos wondered briefly whether he would be able to make the necessary shot, should the need arise, but he knew that the hand that held the musket was as steady as Aramis' own.

He rolled his shoulders impatiently, eyes watching for any sign that would alert him to the presence of their adversary. The three of them had been tasked with delivering a promissory note to the Duke of Angouleme, but they had been ambushed on the road. They had split up as to protect the note, but he and Aramis had found themselves trapped. Athos knew he should have stayed with Aramis, but, at that time, protecting the note was supposed to have been priority, and of course Aramis had assured him that he could handle it. Porthos had ridden back to the garrison to gain reinforcements and it had taken Athos three days to return to Paris, but their third was nowhere to be seen. The look on Treville's face had been more than telling. The note had already arrived:

 _Give yourself up to us Athos, for your brother's sake._

 _We meet in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, at four._

 _Be there alone, or I shall have more cause to hurt him._

 _Allaire._

Athos' face had almost drained of all colour, and Porthos' most certainly had, when he had read those words. When Allaire had first come to the garrison, he had been an arrogant fool. It had been hoped that years of soldiering would reform him into being a model Frenchman; after all, his sword work was exquisite. However, he had made the greatest mistake a man in his position could make. He had insulted Porthos, and of course, Athos and Aramis had defended him.

It was Athos' strike to the tendons in his leg that had cost him his chance at a commission.

At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Porthos' honour had been tarnished, and it was the job of the other two Inseparables to hold the man accountable. At the sight of the note, Porthos, of course, had wanted to rush after Allaire and free Aramis (Athos was in the same mind), but Treville had persuaded them to make the exchange, on the condition that other Musketeers would be present to assure that both Aramis and Athos were freed.

So here he stood in the fourth hour of the afternoon, waiting for Allaire to appear. Out of the corner of his eye he, finally, sensed movement. Men were moving into the street and as one brushed past a stall, he caught a glimpse of the pistol hidden beneath his cloak. All of a sudden, he felt the cool sting of a knife held to his throat. He almost moved backwards, but stopped himself.

"Did you come alone?" A grim voice rasped.

Athos forced the lie from between his lips, "Yes."

The knife moved from his throat and Allaire stepped out from behind him. This last year had not been kind to the former Musketeer. He still moved with an unmistakable limp, caused by the injury Athos dealt him, and he was thinner than before. His gaunt face was waxen and sullen. You wouldn't have been hard pressed to find a healthier corpse. Athos almost felt pity for him and then he remembered their current predicament. His resolve hardened.

"Where is Aramis?"

"In good time, Athos. I'm just going to enjoy this." Allaire smiled a wolfish grin and Athos felt his stomach turn. This was the monster he had made. He stood there, almost willing the marksman to take the shot already. As if in answer to his thought, a single shot rang out and landed at the man's feet.

It missed.

The sounds of screams and gunfire erupted around him as both sides waged war on one another, but only one thought could penetrate through the fog in his head.

Aramis could have made that shot.

He couldn't think as he was dragged out of the paths of the bullets that circled around him. He allowed himself to be pulled behind a wall, the brick sitting uncomfortably against his back. He finally came to his senses as a pistol was forced into his hands, and he mechanically reloaded the shot. He could feel Porthos' shoulder pressed into his own and finally he could hear Porthos' voice coming from beside him.

"Athos, he's not here."

"I know." There was barely concealed fury in his voice and he drew out from behind the wall to fire at one of the assailants. His shot hit its mark with clinical precision and he reloaded the pistol. This vicious fire fight continued until silence reigned across the street. It settled into the bones of each and every Musketeer left standing and Athos shook himself, trying to dismiss the grief that had settled around him like snowflakes in winter. The sound of hooves penetrated the silence and Athos felt the steady presence of his captain beside him.

"He ran."

"He did."

"We failed."

"Not yet. I have sent one of the cadets to follow them."

"The marksman?"

"The marksman."

"He shouldn't have missed." Athos walked back to where Porthos was still pressed against the wall and together they trudged back to the garrison courtyard. Once there, Porthos finally broke the silence that hung heavy between them.

"We have to do something, 'Thos." He mumbled.

"We will."

With that assurance, Porthos slipped down onto their bench. They had both promised themselves that they would wait for the Musketeer to return. However, the exhaustion from the last few sleepless nights was finally catching up with them. Porthos was soon asleep, his head pillowed on his arm, his snores echoing around the near silent garrison. Athos, however, could not have slept if he tried.

All for one, and one for all.

It was the ultimate resolution, the ultimate promise, the belief that you would give yourself up for your brothers, because they would do the same for you. Aramis had given himself so that Athos could take the promissory note to the Duke. It had been Athos' turn to give himself, to sacrifice himself so his friend, no, his brother, could be spared pain, but he had listened to Treville and they had tried it his way, and now Aramis was going to pay the price. All because he couldn't abide by their pledge. Athos collapsed silently onto the seat next to his sleeping brother.

An hour flew by and finally the young marksman galloped into the garrison, quickly dismounted his horse and hurried up the stairs to Treville's office. He disappeared into the building and reappeared a moment later, running to the stables. Athos gently shook Porthos' arm to wake him.

"Athos." Treville's voice carried across the garrison courtyard.

"The scout?" Porthos' eyes were wide open and he shot up from his seat.

"He said he followed Allaire to an abandoned ice house a few miles west of here. Barteaux!"

The young recruit Athos had seen earlier poked his head around the door of the stables, "Captain?"

"Escort Athos and Porthos to the place you saw the bandits when they are ready."

"Yes, Captain." Barteaux nodded his head fervently, "Shall I prepare your horses?"

Athos nodded, sending a grateful glance in the cadet's direction, who stepped back into the stables. "Cadet." The young man came back out of the stables, "Barteaux, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

Athos let the title slide, "How long will it take us to reach the ice house?"

"It's only half an hour from here if we keep the horses at a gallop. I'll prepare them."

"Thank you."

Athos turned his attention back to Porthos.

"The ice house."

"Half an hour? He must have been rushin'"

Athos nodded his assent, as Porthos passed him his pistols. The two Inseparables followed the cadet out of the garrison. They rode for half an hour in total silence, keeping the horses at a gallop until they could no longer bear it and approached the ice store quietly.

"Are you sure this was where they went?"

Barteaux nodded, "Absolutely. He met a man before the door, just there." He pointed to a tree stump in the clearing before the rectangular monument. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the building, except for the fact that it was huge.

"What did the man look like?"

"Tall, dark hair. It was long and he had a scar going down the left side of his face." Barteaux traced the pattern of the scar on his own visage.

Porthos nodded, "Athos, there are no guards posted outside, we should go now."

Athos shook his head, "They would see us in a moment and kill us all. We will wait for the cover of darkness."

"That could be hours away! Don't you care about Aramis?" Athos flinched slightly.

A timid voice murmured quietly, "Sunset should only be less than a half hour away." Porthos had almost forgotten that the cadet was there with them.

He growled, "They could've killed him by then." Barteaux slinked back into the trees and Athos gave him a glare that could've melted stone.

"Porthos. Aramis wouldn't want us fighting amongst ourselves."

"Stop saying it like that." Porthos' quiet whisper cut through their argument. "Like he's..."

He couldn't bring himself to say the words. He couldn't, because that would make it all too real. Athos' voice lowered and he stepped closer, "Porthos..."

"Don't, don't say that. 'Mis is alive."

A single tear slipped unbidden down his face. Others joined them and soon they were running in rivers down his cheeks. He could hear choked sobbing and was startled to find that the noise was coming from his chest. He tried to breathe, concentrating on that until the tears stopped falling. He tried to move, but was startled to find strong arms wrapped around his chest. He pulled away slowly, and the arms receded, leaving him standing in front of Athos.

"Didn't know you liked huggin'." _I'm sorry._

"I've been known to display the occasional bout of affection." _You have nothing to apologise for._

Porthos smiled sadly. From behind Athos came a quiet sound, like a throat being cleared. Porthos looked past Athos to see the cadet standing sheepishly behind the swordsman.

"The sun is beginning to set."

The sun was indeed beginning to set behind the derelict ice house, painting the crumbling building in shades of red and orange. Athos hoped it was the only red he was going to see today. He checked his pistols, finding them loaded, and stepped out onto the ridge. He was almost startled when he sensed a second presence behind him.

"Are you sure you want to follow us?"

Athos could sense the cadet's indignation, but Porthos cut in, "It'll be dangerous, lad."

"All for one, remember." Porthos smiled; he could hardly argue with that.

Ice house was a strange name, for this was no house, it was a labyrinth. The paths twisted and turned, leading to several forks, and eventually Athos grew exasperated and indicated that they should each take a different path. They were losing time they didn't have. The path that Athos had taken seemed to lead him further and further into the depths of the ice maze. It seemed to get colder, as if the walls were trying to suck the heat off his bones. Athos shivered in spite of himself. Here the rooms were nothing more than cells as four walls were not required to keep the ice cool. He continued down the path, until he came across a familiar object. A hat.

Aramis' hat.

He rushed along the corridor, calling Aramis' name softly as he searched each cell. Finally, Athos came to a dead end. There was only was cell left; Aramis was in that cell. If he was here at all. Athos entered the cell and almost gagged. The stench of blood and sweat was everywhere, but was coming most strongly from the red words written six feet high on the wall.

'ONE FOR ALL, BUT NONE FOR ONE'

Athos couldn't help himself. He turned and retched into the corner until there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up. The stench invaded his senses, forcing him to gag, and he stumbled out of the cell into the corridor. His legs failed him and he slid down the wall. A hot tear slipped down his face.

He had failed Aramis.

He had allowed Aramis to remain in the hands of his torturer, his tormentor. He hadn't given himself up when Allaire had asked it of him and he had broken the oath that he and his brothers were meant to hold sacred.

All for one, and one for all.

One for all, and none for one.

Athos buried his head in his hands. Somewhere in his brain the rational part was telling him that Allaire was just trying to play with him, but he could no longer listen. He braced himself against the myriad of emotions that threatened to drown him. He breathed deeply, trying to get himself under control.

True, those words were horrible, but they meant one very important thing. Aramis wasn't here.

"Athos!"

His head snapped upwards, perhaps Porthos had found something. He braced himself against the wall, forcing his shaking legs to carry him, and pushed himself towards Porthos' shout.

* * *

Porthos continued down the path he had elected. He paused, drinking in the silence that surrounded him. It made him feel uneasy, as if there was something not quite right here, and he knew that Athos would have sensed it too. The feeling became so strong that he pulled out his sword and main gauche, suspicious of every shadow that crossed his path and it did not dissipate. He searched every room, and the more he searched, the more despair gained a hold on his heart, but he would not give up. He continued along his corridor.

The tiniest noise made him stop still in his tracks. It came from the last room in that particular hall, a scratching sound, like two flints being struck together. He crept along the passage, pausing to glance around the doorway. He could spy a man, no older than the cadet, striking the flints. The rest of his view of the room was obstructed by what looked like several hundreds of barrels of gunpowder.

They were trying to get rid of the ice house.

Or, they knew that he and Athos were coming. It was more likely that it was both.

He inched up behind the man and hit him with the butt of his pistol. He slammed his fist down on the man's face, over and over, until he broke skin. There was part of him that wanted to continue, but another part, that sounded a little like Aramis, urged him to stop. The man wasn't any use to them dead. He pulled his fist back, and stood there heaving in deep breaths, taking in the deeply satisfying dark bruising on the unconscious man's cheek. There would be time to deal with him later.

"Athos!" He called the swordsman's name into the darkness, hoping that Athos would hear him.

It was the cadet who found him first, "That is a lot of gunpowder."

"Find Athos." Barteaux nodded and vanished into the darkness once again, returning a moment later with Athos at his side. Porthos took note of Athos' dishevelled appearance but dismissed it for later, "They knew we were comin'"

This didn't seem to come as a surprise to Athos, "Has he said anything?"

"Didn't give 'im the chance to." Just as he spoke, the man at his feet began to stir. Porthos quickly tied the man's hands behind his back with the rope connected to the powder. The man opened his eyes, only to glare mutinously at the Musketeers.

"Do what you have to." With that, Athos left Porthos with the struggling man, as Barteaux quickly shadowed the older Musketeer. Porthos almost chuckled; Athos had found himself quite the admirer. A groan came from the man at his feet and again he found himself wanting to strike the man, but he held himself back. It wasn't like he was going anywhere anyway.

* * *

Porthos stepped out into the fresh air and nodded to Athos.

"What did he say?" Athos adjusted his gloves.

"Said they're keepin' him in a shack, just outside Versailles. S'not far from here."

"And what're we doing about him?" Barteaux nodded to the door, "I could take him back to Paris, I'm sure the Captain will want to get a word in before he's executed. You should go, find Aramis."

"We may be in need of your skills in the future." Barteaux smiled.

In that moment, the structure behind them groaned. Athos whirled to face the building just as a huge explosion ripped it in two. The great gush of flames erupted from within the walls and catapulted the three Musketeers away from the crumbling structure. Pain seared through Athos' back as it connected with a tree. He lay at its base, trying desperately to remember how to breathe as brick confetti rained down all around him. He gripped the base of the tree, pulling himself up onto shaking legs. He spied Porthos trying to heave himself up a few metres away and offered the larger Musketeer his hand, pulling him up. Porthos stretched gingerly, trying not to jostle anything. The blast had knocked him off balance, and he knew he would be feeling the aches for a few days, but other than that he was, fortunately, uninjured.

The two approached the pile of rubble that had once been the ice house. Iron, brick and wood was strewn everywhere. They stepped around the largest piles, in awe of the destruction.

"Athos."

Athos looked up at Porthos' serious tone. He was standing by a pile of rubble that he had dug open. Athos strode over to glance into the pit.

"Do you think he had family?"

Porthos shook his head, "Aramis said he was an orphan."

Athos looked back down at the body of the cadet. His eyes were closed (thank goodness for small mercies) and he looked peaceful, as if sleeping. Although, one could hardly call being crushed by bricks peaceful.

"We should bury him."

Athos nodded. Guilt was strange, he decided. He could not bring himself to feel guilty over this; yes, it would be a weight on his conscience, but this was the choice Barteaux had made. All for one. He felt guilty, but only because Barteaux had honoured the promise that he himself had not been brave enough to keep. Aramis had meant very little to the cadet, but he had died trying to save him. Of course, neither Athos or Porthos would be inclined to tell the marksman this when they rescued him, but that didn't make it any less true. They buried Barteaux in the field next to the former ice maze. It felt wrong without having Aramis there to say the necessary rites and keep vigil and so Athos and Porthos stood there in silence, each man absorbed in his thoughts, or, in Athos' case, his guilt.

Slowly, Athos turned away from the makeshift grave with its wooden cross and mounted his horse, tying Barteaux's to his own. Porthos soon followed him, and together they rode to rescue their brother. Not a word was exchanged between them, because there was nothing more to be said. As they neared the location, they simultaneously dismounted, tying the horses to a nearby tree. They approached the shack, noticing that there were guards stationed outside the entrance. Porthos crept round one side and Athos snuck round the other, making quick work of the guards.

"Intruders!"

Porthos looked up at the shout, and cursed silently, shooting the man above him. Athos skewered his assailant, "Porthos, go, find Aramis!"

"You go. I can hold them." Athos hesitated, and he added, "Athos, go!"

Athos unbuckled the last pistol from his belt and handed it to Porthos, who nodded curtly. He hastily slipped down into the hovel. The air was humid and suffocating, and Athos found himself cursing Jacques for leaving his brother here. He inched along the corridor leading into the building and cut down any man that stood in his path with a righteous fury. As he dispatched the last man, he found that he could hear a low mumbling from the last room. He hurried along, trying to keep his emotions in check. If Aramis was not here, he didn't think that his heart, or Porthos' could take it. He peered into the room, and his heart almost leapt out of his chest.

"Aramis."

He ran into the room, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, and kneeled beside Aramis. His hands ghosted over the marksman's frame and finally landed on the rope binding him to the chair. He quickly undid the knots just as Aramis' hoarse whisper reached him.

"'Thos?"

He moved so that Aramis could see his face, but he couldn't help his grip on the marksman's arm. Aramis was here and he was alive. He could see some of his relief mirrored in his brother's face.

"Athos."

He caught Aramis as he almost toppled from the chair as it's what he has always done. He stayed still as Aramis' tears soaked into his doublet, as he could not quite bring himself to move yet. He wished that he could stay here, feeling the steady beat of Aramis' heart against his own, but he knew that they had to move; Aramis surely had countless injuries that needed seeing to.

"How long-"

"Five days." Athos could have almost anticipated the question.

"Porthos-"

Athos smiled and pulled his brother to his feet, "Outside. Dealing with them." He knew that his response was a little curt and it pained him to see Aramis blanch at the fury.

"Aramis." The marksman gave a quiet hum, "Don't sacrifice yourself for me again."

He lead them out of the room and through the corridor, going slowly to avoid irritating one of Aramis' injuries. His fury spiked at every hiss and pained whimper his brother gave and by the time they reached the door through which Athos had entered the shack, he was ready to kill Allaire or allow Porthos to rip him limb from limb.

"Porthos!"

Porthos turned from the man he had just knocked senseless. A fine trickle of blood rushed down from the wound on his arm, and he could feel the bruises that were starting to blossom from the last week of their exploits, but in that moment, he could hardly bring himself to care. He rushed to Aramis' side, taking care not to touch any of his injuries.

"Aramis." He gently took his brother's face in his hands.

"You came." He almost missed the whisper, that was how quiet it was, but the smile that accompanied it spoke a thousand words.

"Always."

Porthos smiled at Athos (the first honest smile from him in the days since Aramis' capture) and with that gesture it felt like something had healed inside of Athos' chest. The broken shards that had once been their resolution had knitted themselves back together and he knows that they will heal from this, because Athos and Porthos came for their brother, no matter the consequences to themselves, and, yes, it will take time for the bruises on Athos back to completely heal, or for Aramis to be able to ride again without wincing or for him to quit whining when Porthos puts him on bedrest for three weeks, but the Inseparables are reunited, the resolution is kept and somewhere in the French landscape stands a wooden cross with these words:

 _N'oubliez pas_

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 _Thank you for reading and remember to write your own entry for the Fete de Mousquetaires competition!_

 _~ Arseneau_


End file.
